


the kingdom lights shined (for me and you)

by Remedial



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Edinburgh, Eventual Fluff, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Frigga (Marvel)'s B+ Parenting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, New Year's Eve, New Years, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, POV Hela (Marvel), POV Third Person, Siblings, obligatory new years fic, unbeta'd we die like mne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22075657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remedial/pseuds/Remedial
Summary: Hela usually spends new year's alone, trouble free. This year is different.
Relationships: Hela & Loki & Thor (Marvel), Hela & Loki (Marvel), Hela & Odin & Frigga | Freyja & Loki & Thor (Marvel), Hela & Thor (Marvel), Loki & Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 152





	the kingdom lights shined (for me and you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Infinite_Monkeys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinite_Monkeys/gifts).



> _Hold on to spinning around_   
>  _confetti falls to the ground_   
>  _may these memories break our fall_

New Year's Eve — Hela was alone. 

She didn’t mind, not in the slightest — preferred it, if anything. And she was used to it. She had been alone last year too, and the year before that, just as she would be next year and probably every year after until she was dead. It made her sound bitter, and she was probably a bit of a bitter person, if you looked at it objectively, but about this — New Year's Eve — she wasn’t. 

Hela was living a good life, after all, at least now, and it was just one day. Just one night. She was living well, a first floor apartment in town, very decently sized, more space than she had need for — granted, it was one floor above a noisy pub, but she could live with that. And she didn’t have to be alone, she’d chosen it; she’d begged off going to the New Year's party at the law firm she worked at, and was instead surrounded by her favourites from the local bakery and gifted bottles of wine from Christmas. All in all, there were worse options. Much worse.

When she arrived home — early, being given only a half-day — there had been a lovely little surprise from Frigga on her answering machine. Granted, it had not really been a surprise. 

It was the same every year:  _ “Hello...um, Hela, darling, we’re having our New Years celebration at the manor tonight. We’ll all be there, Odin, me, your brothers… I know you’re busy, so I understand if you can’t make it but we’d all really love for you to be here. Um, talk soon. I love you. _ ” 

Quite frankly, Hela didn’t know why Frigga didn’t simply text her, what with all her _'um's_ and pauses. Perhaps she thought hearing her voice would be more convincing. Hela had texted her mother a firm, but not unkind, no.

But still, it wasn’t anything terrible. Nice, even, to feel wanted somewhere, even if it was only in theory and not in practicality

Below her, in the pub, she could already hear cheering as people began singing Auld Lang Syne off-key, as was custom to do at least once every hour up ‘til midnight. It wasn’t even eight yet. There were worse ways to be spending New Year's. She couldn’t imagine being one of the bartenders downstairs, or anywhere else. Not tonight.

Over four hours until midnight. 

There was still Chinese takeout from yesterday in the fridge, so Hela took some out to put in the microwave. Just a normal stir-fry noodles. Two and a half minutes. Hela drummed her fingers on the counter and looked around her kitchen.

Next to the sink there were two champagne flutes left on the counter from a half-successful date two days ago which she still hadn’t washed yet. Not fully successful because she hadn’t liked the guy, he had been good looking for sure, but also just a little boring; half successful because, since she hadn’t liked the guy, she had slept with him and in that respect he was at least decent. Hela gave both glasses a quick rinse before selecting a red wine and pouring it into one of them. Scandalous, of course, because she was pouring wine into champagne flutes, but Hela couldn’t bring herself to care. No one was here to judge her for it, anyway. 

She spent the next two hours watching things on Netflix, and looking for things to watch on Netflix, which was what she had been doing since she’d arrived home at around three earlier today. Almost everything which popped up on her recommended lists were festive themed, but she’d gotten there in the end, going through documentaries and shitty low-budget action films. One bottle of red wine down via champagne flute — the kind of aesthetic which would only look put together from far away — and half way through a bottle of cheap rose, and a bag of salted popcorn. 

Two hours until midnight. 

It was then that the buzzer for her flat went off, half way through Planet Earth episode two (the original one). She ignored it, brushing off irritation which came regularly with living above a pub. Stupid bloody drunks.

But then the buzzer had sounded again. And again. Twice in the space of two seconds. And then again. Sounding frantic, and Hela was paranoid enough not to leave it completely.

She got up with a literal groan, dragging herself towards the door and towards the receiver. 

"Who is it?" she said into the phone, ready to hear some stupid college student yell Merry Christmas into her ear. 

"Hela," said the voice. "It's me— it's Loki."

The previous annoyance in Hela's mind pulled short and came up blank. 

"Oh," she said, because for the first time since perhaps her infancy she did not know what to say. "Okay."

She pressed the button to let him up. 

Hela hadn't seen Loki in years. Well, she hadn't seen any of her so-called brothers in years, but at least with Thor he posted the occasional selfie on social media. Loki, not so much, at least not on any platforms she followed. Anyway, she hadn't seen Loki since he'd been — what? Sixteen? That had been six years ago, he would be twenty-two now. 

Still, he was still unmistakably Loki.

Same long black hair, longer now. Same neutral green style combinations. Same haughty raised chin. Same bloodshot green eyes from crying.

Because of course Loki was crying again.

"Long time no see, Hela," said Loki, giving her hall the same quick judgemental gaze as he always did in unfamiliar places. 

"Jesus," Hela replied, doing the same with him but only with his face, and the way his back, though straight, was rigid and not the deliberately relaxed posture they'd been taught. "Did you miss me that much?"

Loki sniffled, nose scrunching in the same way, which obviously made sense because he was still the same fucking person. "Well, it has been six years."

"Yeah, it has, hasn't it."

"Aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?" Loki said, getting straight to the point. 

Hela shrugged and led him to her sitting room because David Attenborough and also wine was awaiting her return. Usually, she’d have been all for getting straight to the point, but right now, as it was, she didn’t think she had the energy.

“Champagne flutes and red,” Loki remarked, raising a brow.

“It’s rose now, actually,” Hela replied, chucking a spare blanket at him. Loki caught it, and sat down, rigid as anything, still, on her couch with Hela’s throw draped over him.

“I think that’s the opposite of better.”

“Look,” she said, and sighed quietly. Because she was not in the position to be saying ‘look’ since she didn’t have a clue why he was here. “Do you want some?”

Loki hesitated for a moment but nodded. “Please.”

When she arrived back at the sitting room, another champagne flute in hand, Loki was sitting in the exact position she had left him, staring at the paused television screen unblinkingly, looking even more tightly strung. He accepted the glass wordlessly. Hela settled back into her seat with her own glass and pressed play. 

She let them watch the rest of the episode in silence. David Attenborough narrated the ongoings of meerkats, the drama of potential predators to the family; Hela continued making her way through shitty wine and popcorn, every so often glancing at Loki; Loki sat huddled, a perfect ninety degrees to the sofa, a fucking picture of pity. Every so often, his breathing would even out but only for a few minutes before it hitched and he worked to quietly control it again, his eyes welling up once more after only just drying. 

Although Hela hadn’t asked yet, she did want to know why he was here, on her couch, on New Years, about to flood the place with tears. Only…

Only she didn’t feel she quite had the right (even though he was here, and even if he didn’t  _ want  _ her to ask, he clearly expected her to). She hadn’t meant to miss six years, not really. It was only that, after she’d left the house, it had just felt so  _ good. _ And then she’d missed that first Christmas and then the New Year's. She’d been sick, she had said — and in fairness, she actually had been. But it had been nice to spend the turn of the year to herself, without everything that came with her family, with Odin and, yes, Frigga too. Without all the stress, and all the screaming and crying that anything and everything eventually turned into, and all with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be resolved, people would just fuck off and go to sleep and it would start all over again the next day. To just drop all of that — well, it had been a relief.

And she had meant to go the next year as well, but then, what had been one more holiday season. It was nice, and they wouldn’t miss her; both Thor and Loki were old enough to make up for her portion of curses. And two years had turned into six. 

Six years which had gone, by and large, unacknowledged — but six years was still six years, still a long fucking time to not see a single member of her family. 

Hela had no particularly strong feelings about this, other than it might have seemed like a bit of a shame, objectively, but really it could have been worse. 

The episode ended, and Hela had five seconds before the next started to ask her brother. 

An hour and a half until midnight.

“So,” she began and took another sip of rose from her glass, “why are you here, then?”

Loki shrugged, unturning. The next episode was beginning. 

“Loki, stop clenching your jaw for a second and face me.”

Loki turned, his eyes only a little less red than they were half an hour ago. “What?” he said.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what you’re doing here?” Hela’s voice came out harsher than she’d meant it too. She had never been as good with words as Loki — sure, she could be sharp, cutting, when she wanted to, but she was not so good at being soft. Never a good big sister when she needed to be. Six years. 

Still, Loki had come to her, whether he regretted doing so or not. That had to be worth something, even if it wasn’t much.

“Maybe I just missed you,” Loki said wryly, and maybe he had missed her but it wasn’t why. It was never that simple, not with this family. “It’s been six years, you know.”

“Yeah, okay,” Hela allowed, “It has been.”

“Didn’t you miss me?”

“Yeah, okay. I missed you.” Hela wasn’t sure how much she had meant it but it didn’t feel like much of a lie. “Are you going to tell me why you’re here, crying.”

“I’m not crying,” said Loki, though his eyes were still watering.

“You always cry, Loki,” Hela replied. “You were never that good at hiding it.”

Loki’s face made an ugly expression, too scornful, too bitter for someone just twenty-two — though, Hela could understand the feeling — before smoothing down just as quickly. “Bravo for noticing then,” he replied, almost sarcastic. And then he fell silent. 

Hela didn’t say anything, just waited. It was one thing she had learnt from Odin, waiting. She was not patient by nature, not at all, but she knew when to wait, when to let somebody else speak (only when it mattered, of course), even if she had only learnt by way of bad example. She waited, watched as Loki’s shoulders bunched up more and more. 

“Did you—” he began quietly, before interrupting himself. “No, stupid question, of course you knew.”

“Loki—” she said, in spite of herself.

“Shut up!” and his face was red but he wasn’t crying just yet. He inhaled quickly through his nose, not looking at her but at the floor. “Did you just assume I already knew? You know, I always wondered. Always wondered why — I mean clearly you were the favourite until you fucked off, and then Thor. But why was it never me? I’m a fucking idiot, right? There aren’t even any baby pictures — you know, ‘we lost them’ always made me feel worse. What kind of parent loses their child’s baby photos. They keep yours, not out on the walls of course, but Odin’s got stashes of them somewhere, and it’s been six years. I mean, not all children get to be the favourite but I thought they at least loved me. Except it’s all pretend, isn’t it? Fucking Odin and Mu— Frigga playing charity again. Maybe if they’d just told me from the start at least I’d have a reason to feel so fucking different from the beginning.

“Loki, “ Hela interrupted. “Sit down,” because somewhere in the middle of his speech he’d stood up and began pacing. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Loki replied, but sat down. “And then you all have the nerve to act as though  _ I’m  _ the one being unreasonable. As though I haven’t been lied to my whole fucking life. You know, I finally know why, all these years, I’ve always felt — God, I’ve been a fool.”

It was then that the dam broke, and Loki gritted his teeth as though he could force the tears back up. Because here was the thing about Loki; while they had all known Loki was a crier, while Thor raged loudly to anyone who was in the room, while Hela had smashed furniture alone but loud enough that she knew people were listening, Loki hadn’t cried in front of any of them since he’d been about ten. There were sharp, twisting words, learnt from herself and from Odin, no doubt, but then there was crying into his pillow. 

Hela didn’t know what to do with crying Loki, Loki who was crying in her apartment, in front of her, with her. 

"Yeah, well," she said, her thoughts stuttering which they had done the past hour or so more than they had the last half decade. "We're all kind of fools."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" 

Hela shrugged. "It's just true."

"It's just true," he mimicked, as though eleven again, through watery tears. "It's just — nobody ever took my side."

She snorted, "Nobody ever took anybody's side."

"You know that's not true. It was always… it was always all three of us against him with Mother — Frigga trying to play peacemaker but perpetually saying  _ you're father is right, you're father has his reasons _ . And then you fucked off and then it was just Thor, and me taking his side or him getting angry at me and everybody taking his side. Or Father— or Odin getting angry and me and nobody ever really taking my side even though I had taken theirs countless of times. And Mo— Frigga taking someone's side, always saying they had  _ reasons _ and never acknowledging they might be her reasons too. And everyone always lying and saying that  _ I  _ was always lying. And I'm just so  _ sick  _ of it!"

Loki paused, taking a tightly controlled breath and wiping his face roughly with the black sleeves of his jumper. David Attenborough played on, and Hela didn't really want to pause it because she didn't quite know what to say.

"Well," she tried, willing her voice not to become hard as it usually did when she felt defensive or in particularly emotional situations. "At least you don't have their blood running through your veins."

He let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Are you honestly trying to tell me my lot is  _ better?  _ I'm not saying yours is  _ good _ , just that… just that--" he stopped. "Do you think they regret me?"

"Not anymore than they could regret Thor or I."

Loki shrugged, less passionate now and more lifeless, as was the typical effect of their parents, eventually. "You had to have gotten along well enough to adopt me, right? Or, not to be crude, or for them to have Thor."

"I don't know," she said, it had been a long time ago, clearly. Thor had been about three, Hela twelve and Loki a squirming infant of one and a half. "I think we were just good at pretending."

"Why'd they even take me? Oh, right. Thor was an accident, I'm guessing?" 

"Yeah."

"Makes sense."

One hour until midnight. 

Hela paused the television and put her rose down.

Downstairs, they were singing Auld Lang Syne again. It had made her feel, despite the relief of being by herself, lonely the previous years. And it did now as well, even though she wasn't alone. Even though she had the heating turned up it made her crave something warmer.

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Loki, and it was the question she had been dreading out of all of them. "I get them — or, alright, I don't think I'll ever get it, truly — but you? You probably hate them more than me. It's been six fucking years."

"Yeah, I get it — six years, I know." She clenched her fists and took a breath. "I don't know," she admitted.

And she was sure that she'd never said that to him before in any way which wasn't ironic or mocking, any way which was sincere. 

"You don't know?" Loki repeated, disbelieving.

Hela swallowed, her gaze scattered about the room, never settling, feeling helplessly defensive. "It just didn't seem like my job, I had my own shit to be dealing with, you had all your other shit…"

"All my other shit," Loki repeated, unconvinced.

And, to be fair, it was unconvincing. Hela herself wasn't convinced. 

"Loki," she said, and forced herself to look at him. "I'm sorry."

Forty-five minutes until midnight. 

The buzzer went off. Hela stood up and Loki groaned.

"Whatever you do, don't let them in. "

Hela studied him for a moment. the buzzer sounded again. "It's Thor, isn't it?"

Loki huffed. He wasn't crying anymore. "Well, I don't know, but who ever it is, do you really want them seeing us like this?"

He had a point. 

The buzzer went off again, once, twice, more insistently. 

"I won't open it for Frigga or Odin," she said instead. "But I'll open it for Thor, I guess. Might as well. I've got to dislike you both equally, haven't I?"

She went to the door and, though she hadn't asked him to, Loki followed. 

"Who is it?"

"It's me. It's Thor," said Thor. "Let me in."

Upon entering, Thor swept his brother into a tight hug. 

“Loki,” he said, voice full of obvious relief. “You’re here.” 

Hela stood to the side for a second or so before closing the door, rubbing her arm, because there was a draft and they were letting the cold in.

“What do you want, Thor?” Loki was saying, extracting himself uncomfortably from his brother’s arms.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you here?” Loki asked, scrutinising him. “What do you want?”

“What do I—” for a second, Thor looked so surprised at the question as though he’d been a beacon of altruism and not a Borson. “Loki,” he began seriously, because Thor was the only one who could be sincere without being angry or spiteful. “Loki, I’m sorry.”

Like Loki, Thor was more or less the same since she had last seen him six years ago: the same red and grey colour preference; the same blue eyes which were warm and bright where Hela’s were cold; the same determined, stubborn air about him — even if it may have been a little more jaded now. Well, nobody came out of the Borson family unscarred. 

Still, Thor was mostly the same, too, and it made Hela a little more conscious of herself. After all, she thought she was different from before, thought she had changed, had outgrown her family, good riddance and all that. But what did she know? If family had taught her anything it was that nobody ever truly changed.

“Sorry for what, Thor?” Loki responded coldly. 

“I don’t— I’m sorry I shouted earlier. You were right. You weren’t being unreasonable. I’m sorry. Just— it’s the new year, come home. Please.”

“Thor,” he said, and even though Loki had clearly meant every word he’d said earlier, Hela could see him faltering. It was hardly surprising, she had always known who each of their favourite siblings were, and it wasn’t as though she didn’t understand. It made sense. “No.”

Still, Hela reminded herself. Loki had come to her. 

“Would you like some rose, Thor?” she asked, finally.

Thor turned to her as though only noticing her presence for the first time.

“Hela, hi,” he greeted, fumbling as always. “Happy New Year, and, um, yes please? It’s been—” 

“Six years,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. “I know.”

“Right.”

“Well,” she continued. “Take a seat. Sitting room is just there.”

When her brothers were safely in the sitting room, and Hela was safely in the kitchen looking for another glass, she gave herself a moment. Six years without seeing either of them and now they were both in her flat. She glanced at the time on her oven.

Half an hour until midnight.

There were proper wine glasses in her cupboard, of course, but she brought out another champagne flute, just for equality’s sake. And then grabbed a beer out of the fridge because she knew that was his drink of choice. Or, she hesitated, at least it was seventeen year old Thor’s drink of choice. 

She grabbed a bottle of prosecco.

Thor didn’t say anything about her choice of glass, not because he hadn’t noticed, mostly because she knew he didn’t like to nitpick these sorts of things, even ironically. Loki merely raised a brow.

They weren’t speaking, but clearly had been before she’d returned. Thor had taken her previous spot, so Hela passed the beer and settled herself next to Loki, uncomfortable. 

“How’ve you been?” she said, voice perfectly civil, because it was the done thing, they all knew that. Not like the last time she’d seen them.

“Good,” Thor replied. “Good. I’ve been...good. And yourself, Hela?”

“Fine. Busy,” she answered shortly. The strange thing was, she didn’t want to ask them to leave. 

It certainly wasn’t like she wanted them to stay, of course not, but she didn’t want them to leave. 

“Lovely,” said Loki sarcastically. He took a sip of his rose, finally, and decisively grabbed the remote and pressed play, not because he didn’t enjoy the clear discomfort of his siblings, Hela knew, but because Loki was the reason they were all gathered, and he wasn’t quite ready to confront that yet.

That was fine, though, she decided. Enough had happened today.

Twenty minutes until midnight.

“We should go out,” Thor suggested suddenly, sitting up, interrupting Sir Attenborough. “See the fireworks up at the castle. We haven’t done that in years — over six years, too.” Hela and Loki both looked at him incredulously. Thor shrugged, “What? It’s New Years’ Eve.”

Thor was like that, though. 

Hela could do things thoughtlessly, impulsively, too, but only if it fit into the careful routine she had made for herself. It was the same way she had up and left, and them missed six years of her siblings growing up and Odin and Frigga growing old, the same way her sharp decisiveness helped her climb the ladder in her field, but had meant she hadn’t taken any holidays other than public holidays, meant she cycled through the same ready meals every month and bought all the same brands and took her coffee the same way. 

And then Loki, he had to think every single thing through. She wondered if it was something to do with being adopted, even if he clearly didn’t remember it, that he had to be so thoroughly careful with everything. Everything he did, every word he spoke, everything he wore, carefully calculated in order to cultivate a particular image to any particular person. He looked at every choice as though a painting to study from all angles until it didn’t look like a painting anymore at all. 

The only time he wasn’t like that was around family. Not on purpose, of course, but Borsons were good at getting under each other’s skin. 

It was one thing Hela had learned when she’d left; she’d never be good enough not to let them get to her — none of them ever would be, not even Odin — and that had been why she left. Why bother trying to overcome them when she could just leave? Let them get under their own skin without her. It was the smart choice, she’d learnt her lesson, her brothers would learn it soon enough, anyway.

But Thor was just like that. He did things impulsively and meant them honestly. He was probably the only one of them capable of doing something as simple as suggesting going out to see the fireworks, for the first time in years, and mean it earnestly. 

“Please,” scoffed Loki. “We won’t have enough time. What’s the point anyway? New year's is just the Earth doing a rotation around the Sun, it doesn’t even matter.”

“Just because you can explain it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t celebrate it,” Thor replied, rolling his eyes, and that, at least, was one thing they all did well.

“Hela, what do you usually do?” Loki asked, ignoring their brother. “Since, this is your place.”

“Sleep,” she answered, matter of fact. Her brothers both looked at her critically, as though to remark  _ wow, you got away and this is how you’ve decided to live.  _ “It isn’t like I invited you both here.”

“Come on, we’ve still got time. It’s only a fifteen minute walk to George street, ten if we hurry.”

The episode was far from finished, though, and Hela was quite content to finish it and  _ not  _ wade through hoards of drunkards. 

“It’s the  _ New Year _ ,” Thor insisted. 

Fifteen minutes until midnight.

“Fine,” Hela relented, and they both looked at Loki. 

“ _ Fine _ ,” Loki sighed, as though greatly burdened. She understood the feeling. 

It took them three minutes to put shoes and coats and scarves on, and be out of the door. Thor suggested driving up to save the hurry, but it was quickly decided upon seeing the queue of taxis up the main road that it wasn’t the best idea. 

Ten minutes until midnight. 

It was cold outside and Hela’s fingers turned numb pretty quickly even with gloves on. There were huddles of others walking up alongside them, some families, some tipsy groups of friends, some couples, others she wasn’t too sure of. And here was Hela, walking up to see the fireworks with her siblings, ten minutes until midnight. 

Thor was complaining about the wind, and the way their breaths came up as clouds in the icy air, and Loki — who was always better with cooler climates than either of them — was bickering playfully with him about how this was his idea in the first place so he better suck it up, as though the trauma of the past two hours— and probably more before he’d arrived at hers — hadn’t happened. 

The noise of the streets, though, was better than when she was up in her flat. There was something strangely warm about it, despite the cold, when she was walking up to George Street, accompanied, even though they had to pass by the annoying pub which were singing Auld Lang Syne again. And instead of finding it annoying, their drunken stupor, she was oddly endeared, as though she was part of it all rather than alone. 

Beside her, Thor swung an arm around Loki’s shoulders and gave him a half-hug, and paused before doing the same with Hela. And Hela hadn’t flinched like she thought she would, instead found herself oddly amused that Thor had seemed to develop the opposite of middle-child-complex, despite their upbringing. 

“We better hurry,” said Loki, when they were about half way up, glancing at his watch. They’d already received at least seven pre-emptive ‘ _ happy New Year’ _ s from passing strangers. 

Three minutes until midnight.

“I’m not running for it,” Hela grumbled, but she quickened her steps nonetheless, as did her brothers. 

Just behind them on the pavement, a gaggle of teenage boys were blaring music obnoxiously from speakers and singing along. In front of them, another family; what looked like a pair of grandparents and two younger children, though who could know for sure. The sky was filled with a sort of grey smog from the hourly fireworks before. On the road, taxis and normal cars and traffic wardens alike beeped their horns, yelling up and down, car-lights filling the street with the warm glow of yellow, orange and red.

“ _ The road’s fucking blocked, pal—” _

_ “ — move your car or I’ll move it for you, okay?” _

_ “Watch where you’re going—” _

Thor was practically dragging Loki behind him, shivering despite all his layers because the cold was not for him, and Hela shoved her hands into her pockets and followed behind, watching their antics with amusement.

One minute until midnight. 

George street was crowded, of course, and there were people clambering over monuments of people whose names Hela had long forgotten. There were children on shoulders, giddy friends and significant others giving piggy-backs. There were people in lines holding hands, ready to sing Auld Lang Syne for real, whispering to each other, half in anticipation, half in anxiousness. Because no matter how Hela spent her New Year's, no matter how she felt about it each individual year, there was always something half hopeful about it but half cautious too. 

Someone asked Loki to take their picture so he did, quickly of course. 

“Do you want us to take one for yous, too?” 

“No, thank y—” Loki began to say, but Thor was already whipping out his phone and replying “please.”

“Really, Thor?” said Loki sceptically, but he was smiling.

Hela was... Hela was smiling too, actually, and allowed herself to lug an arm around either brother. “Say cheese,” she said, because she was the eldest so they would do as she said.

“Cheese,” they both echoed.

Thor took back his phone and they all looked back immediately towards the castle. 

A few metres away someone screamed, and shouted  _ “ten!” _

Nine seconds to midnight.

“ _ Eight.” _

_ “Seven.” _

_ “Six.” _

_ “Five.” _

_ “Four.”  _

_ “Three...Two...One!” _

The squeal of fireworks entered the air before bursting brightly, stark and hot against the night sky, more and more and more, never-ending, filling the dark with spiralling explosions, a sort of rebellion against the apathy of the emptiness above them. The masses cheered.

_ “Happy new year! Happy new year — I love you all...happy new year! Happy new year—” _

The three of them, Hela, Thor and Loki, watched the lights in silence, and Loki slipped his hands wordlessly into either of theirs, as was his right to as the youngest, none of them taking their eyes off the sky.

It was… It was nice. Not quite saying “I love you” out loud, yet. Not quite hugging or kissing. But Hela wasn’t alone, and it was, right now, enough — a  _ happy new year, _ that was all.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hope you enjoyed this! I promised infinite_monkeys something fluffy for new years to make up for christmas and instead I ended up with... hurt/comfort fluff? maybe? I guess you really can't have these three without a smidgen of angst :C --> ANYWAY, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
> 
> (the setting is Edinburgh cos I live here and it seems like a likely setting? idk? i cba w/making something up lol.)  
> (Also, go check out Infinite_Monkey's ao3 page if you haven't already -- every single damned one of those fics are fucking epic. I have had Tears.)


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